


as stars once a year brush the earth

by mazily



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (I called this one Gentle Soulmates for a long time), After the War (on Tarth), Ambiguous Canon Choices Ahoy, F/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25889161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mazily/pseuds/mazily
Summary: There was an old song Brienne loved as a girl: most of it was in an ancient language no one living still spoke, but there was a section that Brienne used to demand to hear over and over. A soulmate is the person who will learn you, it said, and who will share your pain.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 71
Kudos: 179
Collections: Jaime x Brienne Fic Exchange 2020





	as stars once a year brush the earth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Julieoftarth (Wherethereissmoak)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wherethereissmoak/gifts).



> All of your prompts were inspiring (so much so that I started way too many fics in a flurry of excitement, only to eventually accept that there was no way I could write most of them). I picked "I'm a sucker for soulmate fic - either modern or in canon times" this time, and if any of those other stories ever see the light of day I'll be sure to let you know.

She leaves Jaime behind in bed. Slips on a comfortable tunic while he twists and turns and pulls a pillow to his chest; picks up her boots to put on once she's safely outside their bedroom, ignores her hair, looks out the window at the sun sliding over the horizon. The sky is pink, then blue. The air is heavy already; a long summer after an almost infinite winter. Jaime snorts, the linen sheets rustle, and then there's the sort of silence that only emphasizes the clattering and buzzing of early morning in the courtyard outside.

*

The gulls dive in and out of the shallows. 

Brienne sits down on a sun-warmed rock and takes off her boots. Steadies herself; she gets dizzy, sometimes, sitting up too quickly. That and an inability to keep food down in the morning are the only obvious signs of her pregnancy so far. ("You're more receptive when I do this," Jaime said, kissing the underside of her breast, "I like it. You. Us.") She lines her boots up side by side like the twin trees just outside the walls of Evenfall Hall. Leans back, lets the early morning heat seep into her skin. 

A gull caws nearby, swoops down to eat something in the rocks. Brienne watches. Blinks, and turns out to look at the sea. She inhales. Tastes the salt in the air. Pushes herself to her feet and walks toward the water.

Her right hand goes numb, unfeeling; back in their rooms Jaime is waking up, and she knows the phantom ache of his missing hand is bothering him. Jaime is waking, and yawning, the bed linens pooling around his waist and highlighting his summer tanned skin. She misses him, suddenly, as wide as the endless sea in front of her.

(The first time it happened:

She screamed. Fire licked up and down her arm, pulsing and burning everywhere but her hand. Which was curiously numb. Terrifyingly unmoving. She thought it was a nightmare at first; thought her visions of smoke and bonfires and death had followed her into the morning light. 

"I can feel my hand," Jaime says. "It's still gone, but—"

"I can't," Brienne said. "I can't feel—")

The water is morning cold against her feet. Pooling around her ankles. She forces herself to still and lets the ocean come to her.

***

Brienne returned to Tarth alone after the war. 

She thanked the Seven for her broad shoulders during those months; let herself learn that her strength could involve more than winning a tourney or swearing fealty or standing guard against the night. She dedicated herself to learning from the Castellan. She exchanged ravens with Queen Sansa, grateful for her friendship and counsel. 

She'd forgotten what it was like to be alone. How it cut down to the bone. 

She began to think of marriage. She began to understand her father's increasingly desperate desire for a true heir: someone actually raised to be the next Evenstar, someone who would learn how to rule from birth. Instead of someone like her: a fraud, a barely-knight, a scarred and hideous woman.

And then Jaime arrived, Podrick in tow. 

***

"It happened again," Jaime says. 

"You overslept," Brienne says. She wades deeper, lets the water curl and dance around her thighs, her waist. She turns back at Jaime for a moment, watches him kick his boots off behind him as he crosses the beach. "I was hot."

"I woke alone," he says, "And my sword hand was cramping like I'd trained too long yesterday."

Her tunic is heavy with water. Jaime pulls his shirt over his head, tosses it behind him. Wades in to join her.

*

They lie side by side on the sand. The sun is hot above and the sand is hot below, drying her clothing and hair; she can feel her cheeks burning, but she can't bring herself to go back inside just yet. To face a day of meetings and decisions and life as the Evenstar. 

Jaime jumps up and runs to the water. When he returns to her, he places his dampened shirt over her face; he tans, a golden god straight out of the songs of Brienne's childhood, and frets over her with ice and milk when she burns.

"We should ride out tomorrow," she says. Voice muffled, the sunlight filtered by the fabric of Jaime's shirt. Before long she will be too big, too unwieldy to travel far. The Maester will bid her remain at home. "Visit some of the villages up in the interior mountains."

"You just want to ride before you're too big for your horse," Jaime says. "And sleep under the stars. Bathe near that waterfall you so love."

A soulmate, it is told, is the one who knows you best. 

"And spar," Brienne says. "I want to spar with you near that waterfall."

"Beat me silly near it, more like," he says. "Although at least I can wash away my tears in the water. It is gloriously cold and bracing."

Brienne hums in agreement. They should go back in. She should dress in proper clothes, break her fast, start her day. Nearby two gulls circle and preen and collide in a fury of feathers and beaks. 

"The gulls are particularly vicious today," Jaime says.

"Let's head back," Brienne says, "I think I can manage some bread now." The feeling has returned to her hand. 

***

There was an old song Brienne loved as a girl: most of it was in an ancient language no one living still spoke, but there was a section that Brienne used to demand to hear over and over. _A soulmate is the person who will learn you_ , it said, _and who will share your pain_. ("It does not mean physical pain," her father told her, when she asked why her mother did not cry out when he cut his finger one evening. "It means that when she is sad, I am sad." Brienne never told him, but his answer disappointed her; she'd imagined a boy somewhere bleeding when she broke her nose earlier that year.)

"You left me alone with people more likely to kill me themselves than allow me to enjoy the continued care of their Maesters," Jaime said. It was clearly meant teasingly, she could tell that even then—a gentle jape, an opening gambit.

Still, it hurt. 

"They would not," she began. "I swear to you, I would never allow—" 

She started to kneel in front of him; she would swear her sword to him, at least, even if it was not what she truly wanted. She would protect him for the rest of his days without any oath at all, but the symbolism mattered. He deserved to know that she would watch over him; he deserved to know that anyone would. 

He placed his hand on her arm. She looked up.

"That is not the vow I would have you swear to me," he said. 

They did not wait to marry. It rained that afternoon: a long overdue rain that the farmers cheered. A lucky rain. Brienne's tunic was soaked through by the time Jaime stretched up to kiss her, finally hers as she was his. They ran back inside, up the staircase behind the kitchens, through the solar and into their bedroom.

"Sometimes I think there must be an invisible ribbon binding us together," Jaime said, half-asleep in bed that night. His back was sweaty and warm against her chest, and she held him close as they lay together. He twined their fingers together. "Your hand to my hand. My heart to your heart."

***

"I'll have to spar with my left hand," Brienne says, once they've set up their camp for the night.

"Again?" Jaime asks. 

"It happens more frequently of late," Brienne says. She shrugs. 

It doesn't make any sense—part of her wonders if it's something to do with the babe, a sign or portent of some sort, but the only thing she can think of is that the child might favor his left hand. It's like that song she used to love as a girl; most of it is in a language she'll never understand, but the melody somehow matches the beat of her heart. 

The sun still hovers high enough in the sky, and the humidity is relentless and stifling. Sweat runs down Brienne's back in itchy rivulets; she has to force herself not to squirm, not to scratch. The waterfall roars, and she can't stop herself from glancing at it. 

"We can swim now and spar later," Jaime offers. "It's still pretty hot."

"No, it's good to practice with my off hand. I should've started training this way years ago."

"It's nice, though," Jaime says, and then he freezes. "Not that you lose feeling in your hand or might suffer in any way because of me—"

"Jaime," she says, because they've argued their insecurities far too many times, "It's not—"

"It's comforting," he says, "To know you're truly loved, that there's physical proof of it. That the Seven or the Old Gods or the mermaids in Shipbreaker Bay looked at you and they looked at me and said, _them_. I think it's—"

"Jaime," Brienne repeats. He stops talking. Just looks at her and smiles, like he can't quite help himself from feeling joy at the sight of her. She leans down and presses a quick peck to his lips. Behind him, the sun is finally beginning to slide toward the horizon. The nighttime insects start to buzz and dance.

Brienne doesn't even bother pulling out her sword; she kicks his feet out from under him while he stares at her and climbs on top of him where he falls. One knee on either side of his hips and her own good hand pressing his to the dirt. 

"It is nice," she says. "Now yield."

*

Jaime looks up at her. "You outshine the moon, my Lady," he says, and Brienne believes him. "Even I know better than to duel the moon. A dragon, yes, but—"

Brienne kisses him to silence him. Kisses him to hold him down. 

He yields. Melting and soft, his face open and awestruck every time. 

**Author's Note:**

> “But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.”
> 
> ― Madeline Miller, _Circe_


End file.
